“I am glad you find this all so amusing,” he said and stood to make his way toward the door.
Mey quickly tried to compose herself, wiping the tears away from her face and taking a couple of deep breaths. Damn! He was gone so quickly. She rushed out after him and caught sight of him a few buildings down. “Wait!” she called and started after him. The mage continued to walk on.
She caught up to him and reached out to grab his arm. He stopped, but did not turn. Mey took a second to catch her breath, then addressed him. “I’m sorry. It is hard for me to comprehend. I cannot believe anything special belongs exclusively to me. I don’t mean to offend.”
The mage was silent. Slowly, he turned and regarded her thoughtfully. “The Mage’s Circle will pay generously. More generously than you’ve known, I’m sure.” There was no mistaking the sarcasm in his words.
“What is required of me?”
“Travel across Cantor, through the Barren-Lands and into the Faery Isles. That is where the Circle believes the Heartstone has been located. Happenings there indicate as much. I will travel with you, along with others we will be required to recruit. A journey of several months, at least.”
Mey chewed her lip. Nothing was holding her here, after all. Not anymore. She looked around her at the ramshackle buildings; her home for the better part of her life. Odd. It doesn’t even feel the same. She thought of Garrin; imagined the excitement she would have seen in his face at the prospect of getting away from this place. A smile played at her lips. She thought of her father. The last image of him fading a little more as time passed. Finally, she looked at the mage. He was resolute in this matter. It obviously meant something to him and as much as she hated to admit it, she needed the money. She made up her mind.
“I accept.”
“Very well,” he said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “We start preparations in a day’s time. We will be ready to leave in a week.”
She held out her hand to seal the deal; he hesitated, then took it.
THREE
The day before they were to leave, Mey and Thom sat idly, sipping spiced wine. They had spent the days searching for seasoned adventurers to travel with them. The nights were spent in debates over the magics Thom purported her to possess. He was very knowledgeable of the old dragons and told her stories that she found were much like the ones her father used to tell her when he tucked her into bed at night. They disagreed on much, but she liked him. He was genuine and struck her as honest. She trusted her gut feeling on people; she was usually right about these things.
They had gathered their traveling gear; Mey “acquiring” much of hers by her own means. They had horses, packs laden with survival tools and food, waterskins, brimming full. What they did not have were acceptable traveling companions.
The notice Thom had posted in various locales within the city had brought every low-life and retired adventurer out of hiding, hoping to obtain a semblance of wealth and notoriety; neither of which they were promising. The story was they wanted experienced traveling companions to accompany them on a journey east of the Barren Lands. Mey had argued that no one in their right minds would cross the Barren Lands. Thom had confidence in the Mage’s Circle, who assured him prospects could be found in Seaside.
So they sat, Mey smug in her assumptions, Thom downcast and brooding, but not relenting faith.
“Well, we have one willing to meet us halfway,” Mey pointed out. She had contacted Oboderen, her uncle and her father’s only brother. He had literally jumped at the chance to see her again and to get out of Orphana where he had spent the last winter with his cousins. They had not spoken since Mey and her father had last visited the southern lands, over twenty years hence. She had been a babe really, considered young to the elven people.
Thom cut into her thoughts, “Yes, a week’s journey alone to meet up with him. I was hoping for an escort from the beginning. You have never traveled and my own travels have been limited to the roads of magic.” He finished off the glass in front of him and hailed the girl for another.
“I traveled once with my father,” Mey protested. But added, “I’ll concede that it has been many years and I was young.” She stared off, losing herself again in thoughts of her father and the wonderful time they had on that single journey so long ago.
Thom looked at her. Sorrow and longing sparkled in the silver flecks of her eyes, making them appear to dance. She was beautiful.
What am I doing? Thom wondered. This woman is in my charge! He lashed himself silently and forced himself to look away. As soon as he did, he was instantly sorry in having done so.
Making its way toward them through the crowded room, with enough noise to grab even the creator’s attention, was the filthiest dwarf he had ever seen. The dwarf stumbled toward them, singing loudly (and off-key) of glorious battles, dragons and ale. He stopped about midway to their table and looked around as if unaware of what he was doing. “Who is seeking a traveling companion to the Barren Lands?” he growled loudly to no one in particular.
He leaned in closely to the nearest table, peering at each person in turn. The patrons quickly pointed in their direction. The dwarf turned his grimy face and fixed his drunken stare on the half-elf and mage. He promptly fell over his own feet trying to reach them. Despite his obviously inebriated state, the dwarf was up again quickly and heading to them. Thom let a slight sigh escape him, and then straightened himself to greet the potential travel-mate. Mey did her best not to cover her nose at the offending smell that preceded the dwarf.
The dwarf positioned himself before the two and bowed unsteadily. “Durlag Rockcrusher, at yer service.” He then stood, swaying, obviously expecting something.
Mey and Thom glanced at one another, and then turned their attention to their prospective companion. Thom spoke first. “I am Thom, of the Mage’s Circle in Val. My companion, Meylaran Moonshadow.”
“Durlag Rockcrusher,” the dwarf repeated, then waited expectantly. After the brief silence that followed, he continued, “Me father helped to banish Arlien.” Again silence followed. Mey and Thom glanced at one another. When it was obvious that no recognition was forthcoming, the dwarf raised his voice. “The dragon what kept the dwarven clan Rockcrusher captive! ARLIEN!”
Taking a hint from the dwarf’s irritation, the two bobbed their heads and mumbled what would pass for delayed recognition and awe.
“Now,” continued Durlag, a smile returning to his face, “I hear you seek companions to travel the wild lands.”
The uneasy tension passing between the three was evident. To Mey’s thinking, a drunken dwarf wouldn’t be the best choice in traveling companions, but they also had no other prospects. Seeing their decision plainly before them but not willing to commit for them both, Thom spoke up first. “Uh, if you will excuse us, good dwarf, my companion and I must discuss an urgent matter alone. Please, seat yourself. We will only need a moment.”
The dwarf grunted his reply and dumped himself unceremoniously into a chair. He pulled out a flask and took a long draw from it. It was the most unusual thing Mey had seen; by way of drinking vessels, that is. It was a beautiful blue hue with swirls of white running though it – pearl, perhaps. There was intricate silver worked around the edges and on the stopper. The smell however, could have knocked down a horse. Mey caught herself thinking about what she could do with the coin something like that would fetch as Thom led her a few steps away.
“We could really use someone who knows the country,” he was saying to her. “He seems to have seen his share of fighting, as well. We need his experience.”
She glanced at the mage, trying to read the thoughts on his face. He was absently rubbing his temples. His face was a blank, as usual. She couldn’t catch even a glimpse of what was rolling around behind the mask. “Fine,” she said, “but I’m not about to look after his filthy backside while I’m trying to keep myself alive. If you haven’t noticed, our friend there has a bit of an issue with keeping himself clear-headed.” She
wrinkled her nose as she glanced toward the dwarf, who was scratching himself in inappropriate places. The dwarf let out a belch that would knock down even the stoutest of men.
Thom’s face had gone slack and his eyes took on that glazed, far-away look that told Mey he was deeply entranced in communion with his brothers of the Mage’s Circle. She sighed as she waited. He suddenly looked over at her and smiled his big, lop-sided grin. “We will take the dwarf. He will be very valuable to us.” Mey cocked an eyebrow to show her skepticism, but she found herself smiling back at the mage. There was a charm to this one she would definitely have to watch out for, she thought to herself.
They turned back to Durlag and Thom engaged the dwarf in conversation about his background. Mey was barely listening. She was vaguely aware that he was regaling the mage of his pilgrimages across Cantor. She was thinking of how distracting his stench was as he launched into the story of how his father had joined the group that had chased the last dragon from the world. An electric shock seemed to jolt through her nerve endings and little hairs rose on the back of her neck when he said the dragon’s name: “Tanahil.” She abruptly stood and the other two looked up at her, slight surprise on their faces at her sudden movement.
“I need some air,” she said curtly and before anything else could be said, she moved off toward the door and outside into the afternoon sun. She scanned the street around her. There were merchants across the way, some selling sweet treats and wine supposedly from the far lands of the elves. Next to that was a shop selling all assortments of trinkets. She moved to scan the display of the merchant’s items arranged on a small wooden table. A glint caught her eye. Looking over, she saw a small assortment of daggers, throwing stars and other dangerous hand-held equipment. With a small smile, she moved over to this display. Now this is more like it.
There was an array of small, sharp daggers as well as some that were a bit longer; made for hunting. She let her fingers brush lightly over the weapons. Her smile deepened, and her thoughts turned to the lessons Garrin had insisted she have every morning. He was very good with daggers, but as the years had passed, she became better. He had taught her all he knew: throwing, fighting with a single dagger, fighting with two daggers and eventually fighting with dagger and sword. She much preferred the throwing. She had mastered throwing several with one hand and eventually throwing from both hands. The back-alley and tavern contests became a bore to her; she could beat them all and usually walked away with a purse full of gold and silver.
She picked up one of the more ornate weapons. Usually this type was not good for fighting. The handle was carved bone and had stones inlaid in the shape of a dragon. She held it closer to her eyes, the sparkling stones mesmerizing. The blade was perfectly worked; steel shining almost blue in the sunlight. She weighted it in her hand to test its grip and balance. It seemed made for her.
“That’s the finest blade you’ll find anywhere in these lands, my lady.” The merchant had ambled over when he noticed her interest. She looked at him. His sparse white hair did not do much to cover his pink head and his beard hung almost to his waist. He was smiling at her, showing the gaps between teeth that were slowly rotting and falling from his mouth as the years passed. The smile across his face did not quite reach his eyes, she noted. She looked him over curiously.
“I’ve seen fine weapons. This one seems hardly fit for anything but cutting the meat at your dinner table. This gem-work would cut your hands to ribbons before you laid your first strike to an enemy.” She was going to set it back, but found herself loathe to put it down. When she moved to replace it on the table, something pulled at her, willing her to draw it closer and not let go.
“But it’s very valuable, that.” The old man dropped his voice to almost a whisper. “It’s made of dragonbone. The handle was carved by one of the last elves to commune with the dragons. It’s said she gave the bone to him after she was wounded in battle with a foe. Fine work, it is. Plainly work of the elves. They say only dragonkin can wield such a weapon.”
She was turning the blade in her hand, examining the craftsmanship. “How much?”
“Fifty gold will have it yours, my lady.”
She couldn’t help but think that this price was a bit high, but she found herself saying, “Done,” and handing over the coin. She drifted away; a bit confused at why she had just paid twice for this dagger than what it was actually worth.
As she moved away from the merchants and back toward the inn where she had left the mage and dwarf to work out the arrangements of travel, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.
She looked over her shoulder and moved back a step to the alley entrance she had just passed. She was certain she had seen a shadow move as she passed. Peering down the alleyway, she saw nothing. The doors to the row of small rooms were all securely shut. Yet, she was sure she had seen something. She took a step closer in, putting herself at the entrance between the two buildings. There! Again, at the end of the narrow street, she saw the fluttering of movement. Probably some animal scrounging for scraps. But the thought did nothing to quell her growing anxiety. She felt her middle tightening and knotting. A flash of memory came to her of Garrin surrounded by filthy sell-swords, leering in at him. She could smell their stench as plain as if she were there.
Tears stung her eyes and she tightened her jaw on the emotion that threatened to spill over. At that moment, the shadow she had seen seemed to emerge from the solid wall at the back of the alley. Mey’s disbelief was instantaneous. The shape was a man, but only shadow. Hazy light surround the form as it moved closer to her. A low buzzing emanated from it, wormed its way into her ears and further into her head where it began to squirm and writhe. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the scene and sound around her. Instincts told her this was magic at work and blades were mostly useless against sorcery. She wished she wasn’t alone. She wished Thom were there. He would know what to do.
With her thoughts lingering on the mage, she slipped the new, bone-handled dagger into her left hand and filled the right with a fine and comfortable blade she had carried since childhood. She automatically crouched low and slithered back, close to the wall behind her. If she kept something at her back, no one could sneak up on her to take that advantage. The buzzing noise was getting louder and louder. The sting of the noise touched her eyes and they began to water. Blinking back uncontrolled tears, she tried to focus on the shapes in front of her while shifting the weight of her weapons in her hands.
The shadows became separate from everything around them and took on individual forms. There were two distinct figures that were very man-like. The forms began to come closer and closer. Unchecked tears ran down her cheeks and her mind was screaming that this magical attack was unfair! She went through the motions of pulling her arm back and letting the dagger fly straight into the face of the nearest form. The dagger passed harmlessly through the shape and clattered to the ground behind it. It felt as though the only part of her that actually moved were her eyes as she scanned her surroundings. The noise of a thousand buzzing insects crawled through her mind and froze her limbs in place.
Her mind kept returning to the mage. If Thom were here, he could defeat this magic in an instant! Where was he? Images of her death at the hands of these creatures played round and round her mind and intertwined with images of him. Just as she felt the hot breath of the creatures before her, a brilliant light burst through and filled her with warm sensations that chased all other thoughts away. The light grew so bright, her next thought was that it must surely burn her; nothing but the sun could emit such brilliance. And, as quickly as it had appeared, it was all gone. Darkness rushed in from the edges of her vision and took over her entire world. She sighed and felt herself falling. There were no more thoughts or feelings. Only a weightless blackness with a silence so profound she really believed she must have been struck deaf.
FOUR
Mey opened her eyes with some trouble. Her head felt heavy and had begun to immediatel
y ache with a dull pounding that reminded her of having too much wine the night before. As she tried to take in her surroundings, she saw a figure in the doorway. It was fuzzy and it took a moment to bring it into focus.
She tried to sit up but found that it made her dizzy and a little sick to her stomach. She groaned and fell back onto the bed instead. Thom was at her side almost in the same instant.
“Water.” The words felt thick and garbled in her mouth.
A cup was held to her lips and she drank greedily. The water was cool and it put out the fire that burned all through her body. She felt satisfied at once and her head began to clear. She indicated she wanted more and the cup was once again brought to her lips. She drank her fill and pushed the cup away gently.
“What happened?” she managed to say before her throat closed and a cough overtook her. She looked over at Thom who was refilling the cup with fresh water in case she would want more. His hands were shaking slightly and he spilled a few drops. He looked at her and his eyes seemed to hold a fear she had not seen there since they had met. “Thom? What happened to the shadows? The last I remember was a bright light. Then…nothing.”
He nodded, cleared his throat and said, “I got there just in time. The shadows you encountered are part of a Shadow Guard. They were sent to stop you from beginning this journey. I don’t know who is behind their presence here, but I am sure you were their intended target and no one else.”
Mey had sensed that was the intent the moment she encountered them. “But, the light? Where did the light come from?”
“That was me,” he continued. “You needed my help. What else was I to do? One moment I was sitting, talking with our new companion and the next an image of you being overtaken by Shadow Guard was all that filled my mind. And I heard you, calling my name; calling for help.” He looked right at her. He seemed uncertain as to what to say next.
Reborn (The Dragons of Cantor Book 1) Page 3
